


Things Left Unsaid

by annieca



Category: The Borgias (2011)
Genre: F/M, Letters, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-17 20:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3543491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annieca/pseuds/annieca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Romans always said Rodrigo's favorite was Juan. What they didn't realize was it was not the middle son's death that would tear the family apart - but the daughter's. There were so many things left unsaid to the beautiful Borgia. And so, with a heavy heart, they begin to write to her, and heal. Set immediately after "The Prince."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the Borgias, only the ideas in my head and the words on the screen.

Cesare was not sure when he had fallen asleep next to his sister on a random bed in the palace he had given her for her protection. He only knew that when he woke up, she was not there.

“Rufio!” Cesare called, hoping the man had not strayed too far – or if he had, it was in the protection of his sister. “Rufio!”

The man appeared, a grim look etched on his face. “Your Eminence?”

“Where is my sister? Where is Lucrezia?” There was a nagging thought in the back of Cesare’s mind, reminding him of when he had gone to her after she had poisoned Alfonso. For a few second Cesare was sure that she had taken her own life. But she was only overcome with grief, unable to make a sound or move. Still, when she had finally drifted off to sleep in his arms, it was not a peaceful sleep – she thrashed, twitched, and moaned, as if she was plagued by nightmares once more. That fact alone made him nervous.

“I do not know, your Eminence.” Rufio answered, sheepishly. “I had assumed she was with you.”

Cesare, who had been looking around the hallway for a trace of her, whipped his head back to the assassin. “And why would you think that?”

“I… I meant no offense your eminence. Only that it seemed she took comfort in your presence.”

Cesare could see through the lie easily, but there were more pressing matters. “Search the palace and its grounds. I want her found.”

A few hours later, Rufio reappeared to a pacing Cesare. “She is not here.”

“She is not…” He slumped into a chair, fingers curling into his hair in anger. “Where is she then?”

“Her horse is still here, your Eminence, so she could not have gone far. Shall I have some of the soldiers search the city?”

“Yes, do so.”

***

Lucrezia was unaware of when she woke – only that her brother was next to her, arms wrapped loosely around her. He was a light sleeper, but she knew if she was careful, she could leave the bed without disturbing him. Her mind was in too much turmoil to stay lying quietly. The weight of what she had done was finally settling in. She had murdered her husband, the man she claimed to love. She had murdered the next in line to the throne of Naples. If that wasn’t enough to get her killed, she wasn’t sure what would. She already knew her soul was damned to purgatory, if only for the sins she had committed with her brother.

She had just meant to walk around the grounds, in a light shift with a shawl wrapped around her, to clear her head. But the grounds were not extensive enough – and they reminded her too much of the life she had just taken. Alfonso had loved trees – sitting underneath them with her, climbing one to make her laugh – and the grounds were scattered with far too many of them.

So, without even thinking, she left the palace. It was not guarded – her brother had seen to that – and at this hour of the night, she was the only one up. She suspected that dawn would break in an hour or so and the medic would return to find her husband dead. That thought alone made her give a quiet cry as she walked the streets of Rome.

Lucrezia wandered aimlessly, turning right or left based more on a whim than on logic. She didn’t look at where she was – she didn’t particularly care. If she got too lost, soon enough her brother would send someone to look for her. Or she could ask any one of the many guards guarding the various estates within the city.

Before Lucrezia knew it, she was at a bridge over the Tiber. Her feet were tired and cut up from walking on the rough cobblestone. She noticed that the stone bridge had walls just wide enough for her to sit comfortably on. Clarity was slowly returning to the Borgia, and she knew that she would need to rest her body before she tried to find her way back home. Cesare would be furious when he found out she had wandered off. Cesare…

Growing up a Borgia, Lucrezia had thought of all the traits of her family that she might inherit. Even as a little girl she could imagine killing someone, so murder was added to the list. Intrigue and underhanded plots were fun to her, and so they went on the list too. But never had she thought she would commit incest.

Not because Cesare was not everything she wanted in a man – but because she thought such love was normal. Lucrezia had always been the most loving in the family. She showered all of her siblings with affection, though Cesare had always gotten the most of it. But as she grew, the whispered rumors grew stronger. When she turned thirteen and had started bleeding for the first time, she started to understand. It was as if that moment had awaken urges in her that scared her. Lust grew in her heart – slow at first, but building. She noticed her need to be beside him at the worst times of her life.

Oh how she had wished he could have been there to take her away from Sforza! She wished he could have saved her innocence – if only for him to take it away himself. And then, through trial and a series of lovers, Lucrezia learned what the physical act of love could mean, could feel like. Once she knew how it felt to make love without it being rape, Lucrezia craved it all the more.

So when Alfonso denied her on her wedding night, she knew two things – that she needed her brother, and that she needed him in a way that they had never shown each other before. That night was agony combined with pure ecstasy. Her mother had mentioned once, that if she found someone she truly loved, the bed would become her favorite piece of furniture. She had said that when had found their father, and made love with him the first time, it was as if he was completing her with every touch. Vannozza had said that she didn’t know she hadn’t been completely whole until she was with their father.

Lucrezia knew she had found that in Cesare. His hands had been feather-light on her skin, holding her as if she weighed nothing. He had watched her with a silly grin on his face – one he only reserved for her. And as she was coming undone, he had demanded she open her eyes and look at him. It was one of the most powerful experiences Lucrezia had ever experienced. Not even the rush of love she had immediately felt as Giovanni had been placed in her arms could compare to that moment.

Of course, that was the moment that Lucrezia was well and truly fucked. Nobody would ever be able to compare to that moment, that night, they spent in each other’s arms. But they couldn’t repeat the event, even if they were making themselves honest to the rumors of Rome.

The first rays of light were bathing the Tiber in beautiful shades of orange, pink, and purple. Lucrezia swung her legs over the edge to more fully enjoy the spectacle. She felt at peace. She knew what she needed to do – or at least, where to start. It would not start with pushing Cesare away, but embracing the need each other had for the other. While she never wanted to step foot in that palace again, she wanted him to move in with her; for protection, she could say if her father questioned her. Though she doubted he would. He would have to listen to reason that Lucrezia would not marry again.

She tried to swing her legs back up on the bridge to get back on her way, but she found her shift catching on the rough rocks, and then the horrible feeling of falling before the cold water rushed over her. Her first thought was to curse her father for not teaching her how to swim. But her last thought was of Giovanni, and of Cesare, and of Cesare’s child, for she had figured out only recently that she was pregnant, and the timing only made sense if it was Cesare’s. Alfonso had never managed to… come undone for her.

***

Rufio saw his new master sitting on his horse, eyes searching for something. Rufio did not want to approach him, even though he had news. He did not want to have to announce to this man that his sister was dead. He feared the outcome of the announcement. It was no secret that Cesare Borgia had a temper. Would he take it out on Rufio, squeezing his neck just so, so that his life was snuffed out? Would Cesare whip him within an inch of his life because Lucrezia had escaped? What would be his reaction? But he knew the reaction would be all the worst if he delayed.

“Your Eminence, the soldiers believe they have found her.” Rufio announced uneasily.

“Where? Is she alright?”

“Your Eminence…” Rufio’s eyes went to the ground before he continued. “They found her on the banks of the Tiber.”

Cesare maneuvered his horse closer to Rufio’s, forcing the man’s chin up, to look him in the eye. “Are you to tell me that my sister is dead?”

“Your Eminence…”

“Answer me.” He snapped.

“Yes. It looks as if it was a…” But Rufio did not get to continue as Cesare’s voice carried over him.

“Which morgue?”

“The one near the Isola Tiberina, on this side of the river.” Rufio said, referencing the little island in the middle of the Tiber towards the edge of the city.

He was gone without another word, making his horse gallop at a neck-breaking speed. As if getting to the morgue faster would make her death not a reality. Rufio followed, albeit reluctantly. He knew his new master would need help returning to body to the Vatican, but he also knew that this was not a moment he wanted to witness.

Cesare reached the morgue in record time, and as he threw the reins of his horse to a nearby soldier under his command, he ran into the building, hoping and praying that Rufio had gotten the message wrong – that his beloved sister, his one true love, was dead. “Your Eminence,” the mortician announced, guiding the man to one covered body, lying on a table. “I am so sorry.”

Cesare pulled the cover back and let out a sob, knees buckling. It was her. His hand snaked underneath the cover to find her little hand, a hand that was cold, but still yielding. Rigor had not set in – she had died very recently. He held her hand as an anchor as he sobbed. Eventually, the tears slowed enough for Cesare to be able to form a coherent sentence. “How… how did she die?”

“It looks like an accidental drowning, your Eminence. There are no wounds on her, save her feet and her arms. It looks as if she had been walking barefoot on the cobblestone and that caused the injuries on her feet. The ones on her arms, I imagine, your Eminence, to come from when she tried to grab something to stop her fall.”

“Is there… anything…” Cesare paused, standing up and taking a deep breath. “Anything else I should know?”

“We haven’t performed an autopsy, your Eminence, but I suspect she was pregnant.”

“Pregn…” Cesare could not contemplate the word.

“I would wager a guess of four months – she is only just beginning to show.”

 _Four months? She married Alfonso four months ago… She… bedded me four months ago. Was this my child?_  Cesare found himself on the floor once more. The mortician sat down next to him, with a sigh.

“It is not easy, your Eminence, to lose someone so close to you. I can lend you a cart so you may take her immediately back to the Vatican, if you wish.”

“You would not recommend an autopsy?”

“If it would give your family more closure, than yes, by all means, I will perform one. But this is as cut and dry a case I have ever seen as an accidental drowning. I do not know how marring her skin could reveal anything else of use to you or your family.”

Cesare nodded. “No cart. I will carry her.”

“Your Eminence… it is a far walk to the Vatican from here.”

“Very well. I will leave it at the gates of the Vatican where someone can come and collect it.” Cesare saw reason very quickly. It was a walk, and though Lucrezia was… had been… a light figure, his arms could still tire, and he would refuse to drop her.

At the gates of the Vatican, he did just that, pulling his beloved in his arms once more, and began walking into the Holy City. He ignored all questions, comments, or remarks, as he carried her to his father’s quarters.

“Cesare, who is…” Rodrigo stopped when he recognized the figure in his arms.

“No, no, no, no…” Rodrigo repeated over and over again, dropping to his knees, the tears instantly flowing.

“What is it my love?” Vannozza asked, coming in from another room. She saw Cesare, who had dropped to his knees as well, cradling his sister in his arms, his…  _dead_  sister? “No… it cannot…”

The three, in their separate places on the floor, sobbed. The only silent one was Lucrezia who was being gently rocked back and forth with each sob Cesare gave. Soon he was out of tears, which left him dry sobbing, burying his face into her hair. She couldn’t be gone. She just couldn’t.

 

 


	2. Part II - The First of Many

            Cesare walked, as if blindfolded, around the halls of the private residences in the Vatican. He passed his brother Juan’s rooms – which had been Prince Alfonso’s rooms when he was alive. He passed his brother Gioffre’s former rooms, now unused, and other rooms that he rarely went in, if had ever. He wasn’t sure where he was going until he was there – at her door.

She hadn’t slept there in a few weeks, instead being at the palace he had given her for her protection, but that didn’t matter. It was still her room. The majority of her things would still be in there. It would still smell like her. Maybe, if he closed his eyes, she would be there, teasing him, or giving him a nose bump. Maybe she would be only in a shift, requesting his presence after he had declared her his. He almost raised his hand to knock, when the reality of the situation came crashing down around him. She was gone. His heartbeat, his song, his life, was gone.

He went into her room quietly, shutting the door behind him, as if it was a secret that he was there – and that no one should know. It felt almost wrong to be there, in her room, without her. But she wasn’t going to come in and chastise him, was she? His fingers ran lightly over furniture as he made his way about the room. Eventually he made his way to the platform bed, and lay on it. Breathing deeply, he buried his head in her pillow, willing himself not to cry. This smell had to last for the rest of his life – he couldn’t exactly go crying on it and wash the scent out, now could he?

With his face pressed into her pillow, he felt something hard, and heard something crackle, with the pressure of his head. Slipping a hand underneath the pillow, he found a knife and a letter. The knife did not look terribly familiar, though Cesare had the feeling that it was supposed to. The letter, however, was addressed to him. When had she written it? What made her want to write it? Should he read it? Questions and doubts plagued him as he took both items in his arms and got off the bed.

Setting down the knife, his fingertips ghosted over the words on the sealed letter – _My Cesare_. He didn’t know if he had the strength to read it, but read it he knew he must. Turning it over and over again in his hand, he finally broke the seal and began to read.

_My love,_

_If you are at all the brother and the man I know you to be, your first question will be why. Your second will be when, and your third will be how. Let me answer the ones that I can – the when and the how._

_I am writing this the morning after we made love. I saw something in your eyes that hurt me, and something in the King of Naples’ eyes that scared me, and I knew I needed to write this. I am a Borgia, and therefore I must always be prepared for death. My only wish is that it hadn’t happened so soon. I wanted to have more children. I wanted to see Giovanni find a girl perfect for him (alliances be damned), marry and give me grandchildren. I wanted to spend a thousand nights in your arms, and at least that many mornings waking up to your ridiculous curls all over my face as we held each other. But, I suppose, that was not to be._

_I cannot tell you if I was killed by some nefarious plot, or by my own stupid carelessness, but I sincerely hope it was the latter. I do not want you, my love, to go on some hell-bent streak of revenge, killing anyone you think might have had a hand in it. No, Cesare, I truly hope my death was an accident._

_As to the how, I know not how I died. But I know the true how that will plague you for what I hope is a short time, but know will not be. You want to know how you can live without me. I won’t put words in your mouth about your affection for me. I only know what I have felt, and what I have heard you say. And of course, your eyes. You have never been able to hide things from me, Cesare Borgia._

_I know you will move on. You have a wife – a wife is supposedly quite beautiful. A wife, you mentioned, wanted a child. You should give her that child, my love. If only to see you smile again. But also because I want you to take Giovanni. I trust no one else with him. I want you to take my child and give him as many siblings as your wife desires – so at least three I hope. I always did love having three siblings. (Even if Juan was ever so troublesome.)_

_I suggest you move to France to be with her. Everything in Rome will remind you of me. And you do have a dukedom there that needs tending to. Or, you could go back to Spain, to where you used to hold your cardinal position – to Valencia. I know your Valencian is not wonderful, but you would learn. And it is certainly better than your French! I still wonder how you managed to communicate with Charlotte with that garbled speech you call French._

_Wherever you go, there I will be, of course. You know this as you will hold my son, for he is one half of me. Please, let it be the better half – the less Borgia half. But even if Giovanni is not with you, know I will be watching over you from my own little corner of the grey. You know I have long since stopped believing in God, in heaven, or in hell. I do believe there is a grey area, where our spirits can rest, knowing we can look down on our loved ones to make sure they are doing okay without us. And I always imagined that we had rather long pokers with which to poke you with if you got too weepy or didn’t do the right thing._

_I want you to find peace, Cesare. If that means you and father never speak again, then so be it. You have had a lifetime’s worth of turmoil in less than twenty years and I believe you deserve a break from it. You deserve a life full of happiness. My only regret is that I cannot be the one to give it to you._

_Before you move on, before I end this letter to tend to my son, know this. I loved you with everything I was, everything I am, and everything I will be. You were my soul. I always felt protected when near you. You would always pull away, as if pulling away somehow protected me. But the heart chooses who it wants, and you knew a long time ago that our hearts chose each other. I knew that as you held me in your bed and we connected in a way that couldn’t seem anything but divine. It was as if the gods themselves had declared us to be fit together._

_Oh… I am not helping you move on, now am I? Well, let me try again. Cesare, you have given me complete and utter happiness. You completed the missing parts of my soul, the damaged parts of my soul, as soon as you let me in. But I do not have a need for a complete soul, as I imagine I died with mine intact from your love. You, however, have all the need in the world for peace, and love, and a complete soul. I give you part of mine, as there is no way I could not. But I also beg you, no, order you, to find the one that fills that void when I am gone. I know you can, and I know you will. It may take time, but you will survive and thrive._

_Please give the knife you found with this letter back to Micheletto, and let him know I appreciate the thought that went into selecting it for me, and the time and patience that came with teaching me where, when, and how to use it. I thankfully never did to this date, and I hope I never did._

_I love you infinitely, Cesare Borgia._

_Love,_

_Lucrezia Borgia_

Cesare hadn’t realized that sometime during reading the letter, he had gotten off the bed, and ended up on the other side of the room. He had slid down a wall, his legs unable to support him any longer. He sat there for hours, sometimes crying, sometimes rereading the letter, but mostly in silence. The sun had been chased out of the sky by the moon before anyone had come looking for him. To be fair, Cesare really didn't want to talk to anyone right now. But like so many other things in his life, he didn't get a choice.

Light, soft footsteps echoed in the hall, pausing in front of Lucrezia’s door, before posting the door open. It was Vannozza, his mother. “I thought I might find you here.” Cesare merely looked up at her, a question on his lips and in his eyes, before looking down at the letter in his hand.

“She left a letter to us?” his mother asked, reaching her hand out to examine it.

“No,” Cesare said, “she left me a letter and a gift to return to Micheletto.” He closed the open pages as if to say no to his mother.

“What did she say?”

“Only that she loved me, and wanted me to be happy, with lots of children running around, playing with her Giovanni. She wants me to take him, leave Rome and start again.” Cesare’s voice broke. “But how am I supposed to do that, Mother? She was everything I fought for, the angel that kept me from falling into a monstrous trap, especially after Juan died.”

Vannozza sighed, settling down next to her eldest. Her arms reached out, holding him as best she could. “She always was the smartest one of the four of you. Or, the wisest. She knew people, and could usually read them at least basically. Of course, she wished her skills were better so she could have avoided the horror of her first marriage. But she was shrewd, and very perceptive. I do not say these things lightly, my son, for I know I will still need to reckon with the fact my only daughter is gone, but until the reality sinks in, I only hope I can provide comfort to you and your father, and Giovanni.”

“What should I do Mother? I cannot…”

“You follow her instructions. Because of everyone that knew or knows you, Cesare, she knew you the best. Honor her by being the best father you can to Giovanni. Honor her by being the man she loved, sins and all. Although, if there was a little less sinning, I certainly would not complain,” Vannozza said with a slight chuckle.

“And the things left unsaid?”

“Write a letter to her, just as she did to you, letting her know what you felt, thought, and hoped for her. I have no doubt with her willpower, and Borgia stubbornness, that she will find a way to let you know she's read it and understood it. After all, nothing can stop a Borgia heart from loving, not even death.” She kissed the top of his head, and stood up, shaking off the dust from her skirt. “And one more thing, Cesare. Don't spend the rest of your life locked up in this room.” And with that, she was gone.

He stood, stretching his long legs. His mother was right on at least two accounts: Lucrezia was clearly the most perceptive of all of them, and her stubbornness would prevent her from ever truly leaving him, or anyone else in the family.

Sitting at her desk, he pulled a piece of parchment out and dipped a pen in the ink. At first the words would not come. And then they came all at once, in a hot mess of agony.

_My Lucrezia –_

_Let me answer your questions, as you always had to know what was going on. You died sometime this morning. You drowned. The man at the morgue said it was an accident - that it did not look like anyone else had a hand in bringing you to the world of grey._ _You wrote you hoped you had died in that manner. My selfish answer is that I hoped you would never die._

_I do not know why you left my side the morning you died. Together we had killed your husband, Alfonso. And I had declared you as mine – nobody else could have you…and Lucrezia, that included death. You were always mine, even when I was too scared and ashamed to admit it. Maybe you needed to think, maybe you needed fresh air, I do not know. All I know is that you never returned._

_Did you know, my love, that you were pregnant? Did you know if it was mine? I imagined it as mine. As I sat, crying, rereading your instructions to me, I imagined our little family, you, me, Giovanni, and our daughter. I am completely positive that you would have had a daughter – for it is what I would have loved for you – with golden hair, perhaps curly like mine, with eyes like yours that could pierce the soul. She would be the envy of Rome and as her Papa, I would fight off all the suitors until she found the right one for her (vetted by us, of course). You mentioned that you wanted to give Giovanni siblings – I wanted that as well. Our daughter, Adelina or Leonora, I could not decide, would only be the first of many. You would call Adelina “Lina,” although I always called her “Addy,” while Leonora was our Leo, our little lion. Maybe we would have had two daughters so that we would not have to struggle with the names._

_But that is a dream that must die, for you are not here._

_I will do as you instructed and raise Giovanni as my own. As for Charlotte and France, that, I am not so sure of. No matter if Juan was the favorite son, my love, because you were the favorite_ child. _You held mother and father in the palm of your hand when you grew up. Of course, this changed as you grew a tongue capable of speaking back to them, but I still believe with all of my heart that you were, and always will be, the favorite. And knowing that, I wonder how our family is to go on. How will our Holy Father encourage love and trust in God if he cannot reconcile why God has taken us from you?_

_No, Lucrezia, your death will be the undoing of this family. You were the beautiful, golden thread that held us together and now the stitches are loose, and so many people are pulling from all directions; I imagine we will come undone quite quickly without you._

_Mother will want me to eat something, to write a letter to Gioffre, to write a letter to my wife, to take care of Giovanni – a whole host of things I have no energy or desire to do so. Your death has sucked all the energy out of my body, dear sis, and I do not know if I will ever recover it. Can I?_

_You insist that I must, and you were always the only one who could find chinks in my mind’s armor so that you got your way. Not even our Holy Father could get me to obey like you could. So, I must recover, and recover I shall. But know this, my love, my darling Lucrezia, I will never love anyone with even a tenth of the love that I had for you. You were, and remain, everything to me._

_Until we meet again,_

_Cesare Borgia_

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah, sorry guys for the depressing-ness of this chapter! Half of this was written on the train to and from New York, so sleep deprivation may have caused some of the sappiness.  
> It's almost the start of hell month in grad school, but hopefully I will have another chapter for you in the next two weeks.


	3. Part III

Vannozza found in those days surrounding her daughter’s death that she had to be the strong one, for it seemed nobody else could. Cesare barely left his quarters, holed up with a letter, Giovanni, and a promise he had to keep for the one he could never say no to. Rodrigo had decided now was the perfect time to start a preaching tour of the Papal States, and when he wasn't gone from Rome entirely, he was in prayer and meditation, occasionally with the College of Cardinals, but mostly alone. So, after a week of watching everyone in the Vatican mope, she took it upon herself to clean out Lucrezia’s rooms.

Giovanni’s things had already been removed to Cesare’s, so the room was quite deserted. Shutting the door behind her, Vannozza realized just how much it was her daughter’s room. It smelled of her – honey and lavender – and a gown hung, airing, waiting to be worn. Always the impeccably neat one of her children, Lucrezia’s desk was immaculate and there were generally very few things out of place. It almost felt wrong to disturb such a sanctuary, but there were plenty of people who could make use of her gowns, and her jewels should have been preserved for Giovanni’s future wife or possibly Cesare’s wife, or daughter if he ever had children. Yes, it was time.

Still, Vannozza paused, hand on the door to the armoire, wondering. Finally, as reality came swooping back in, she shook her head with the thought she was being silly and opened it. She took each dress, carefully folding it and placing it in a basket she had brought with her. Occasionally, she paused to remember the events that had happened in that outfit: her wedding to Sforza, the dressing gown she wore after giving birth to Giovanni, a dress she wore at this mask or another, before putting it in a growing pile of silks, satins, linens, and brocades. She had reached her favorite of Lucrezia’s gowns, though her daughter detested it, and had only worn it once for Vannozza’ s birthday, when she noticed something odd poking out from a loose seam in the lining. It was a letter, addressed to her, in her daughter’s hand.

Settling back on her knees, Vannozza turned the letter over in her hand a few times before breaking the seal to read it.

            _Dearest Mama_

_When I wrote these letters for everyone I thought of where each of you would go after my death for solace, and placed them there. They also had to be in a place where I would not see them or have to move them every day. Cesare’s was easy – I knew he would come to my bed as he did so often when we were children and I had nightmares. Father was the hardest, but yours… it did take some thought. But then one of the maids was pulling out a gown to air and I saw that hideous apricot gown I wore for your birthday and I knew. You would come to my room to pack up my dresses to give away to the less fortunate, maybe saving my best for Cesare’s future daughters (though if our family is any indication, he’ll have only sons)._

_But I have a request of you – and you cannot deny me, because as much as you tried, you had little sway over me. I was the heart of this family, no matter what anyone else thought or said. Or at least, I used to be. But then Father got to be Pope and I didn’t matter – he had his palace and his power. But he still had his ambition. As did you. Which is how I ended up with Sforza, how I ended up with no say in how the rest of my life was to be lived. Of course, you tried to give me that freedom, telling me to keep a lock on my door and a lover in my bed. But I was never a two-man woman, was I Mama? I may have had my little affairs, but my heart has always only belonged to one._

_I digress as I dally. I wish that you would take some of the gowns – in particular the dressing gown I wore after Giovanni’s birth, the dress I wore at his christening, and so on – and make a blanket for Giovanni. I am no longer a part of his life, and I want him to have a visual reminder of me every day, draped over his bed, or wrapped around him as he dozes in a chair. I know you never bragged about your sewing skills – but they are good enough for this._

_I suppose my last request is that you watch Cesare as he cares for Giovanni. You will probably have to do this from afar as I’ve been toying with telling Cesare to leave Rome after I die. I have yet to write his letter – he will be the hardest to write to, because I have so many things to tell him about how I want my son raised, and how I want him to live his life. But I want you to check up on him – on both of them. Please. I want my son to be happy and healthy, but I want the same for my older brother. Because I know, without a doubt, he will give himself away completely to see that Giovanni’s future is secured. But what good is he as an uncle, a protector, if he’s lost his soul in the process?_

_There are many things I wish I could have told you in person. Cesare may be like Father, but I, I am like you. You chose your position, but you did not let it define you. You were not to be the submissive whore of some cardinal. No, you made your own terms. Your strength gave me the courage to pursue my own. The way you mothered me, the way you raised me, taught me how to be a mother to Giovanni. I only wish I could have been a mother to him a little longer._

_You know, when I found myself in the arms of my Paolo, I thought of you? I thought of how you were unhappy in your marriage, and so you found Father. You found someone who worshipped you, and treated you as the princess you deserved to be treated as such. Paolo was that for me – a boy, to be sure – but someone to remind me the kindness of the world when it seemed that everything else wanted to make me hard._

_You were never sharp edges, Mama. You were sharp-tongued, yes, but that is not the same thing. You were warmth and roundness, and beauty and grace…and everything lovely. I am so happy that you were my mother. Know I’ll be smiling on you wherever I end up. My guess is nowhere – my soul scattered to the wind in fragments that shine, to be sure, but also are hidden from the eyes. If that makes any sense. I can see you shaking your head now at the silliness of it._

_Do not regret the things I could not do – I am sure I will regret them enough for both of us as I move beyond this life. Celebrate my life, and celebrate my child. You are so strong, Mama. You are strength embodied. And I so love you for it. I give you my strength to carry you through this time as I have no need for it anymore._

_All my love and then some,_

_Your Lucrezia_

Vannozza sighed shakily, putting a hand to her cheek, only to find it wet when she pulled away. The tears she had held at bay since the initial breakdown on the day they found her, were coming, hot, fast, and furious. The letter shook in her hand as she sobbed. Her daughter, her beautiful daughter, the mother of her grandson, was really and truly gone. How was she supposed to move on?

Then, as her breathing calmed and her body stabilized itself, she remembered the words she told her son. _Write a letter. Tell her all those little unsaid things._

And so, with paper and a quill from her daughter’s supply, she began to write.

_My dearest daughter –_

_When you were born all I could think was how lucky I was to have been blessed with a daughter. You were to be my light, my companion, and my comfort in a world surrounded by men. I wanted you to have everything I didn’t growing up. I marveled at your blonde fuzz – so unlike the curly mops that Cesare and Juan had come out with. People would question that you were mine – you were too pure, too light-skinned with freckles and hair woven by the sun. But you were_ mine _and the rumors slowly died._

_I did not want to spoil you, though – I wanted you to know both the reality of a woman’s life, but also its pleasures. No, spoiling you, it appeared, was Cesare’s job. But I didn’t realize that it would be so difficult to correct my own childish mistakes and teach you at the same time. I didn’t realize you would be so so stubborn, or that you would have inherited my sharp tongue. I remember a time when you were no more than five, standing, hands on your little hips, glaring up at me. I had dared to ask you to come with me, that it was your bedtime. You looked up at me, stomped your foot, and said, “No!” with such emphatic gusto I knew I was done for trying to get you to do anything when you were like that. When you got like that, I went to your father, and if that didn’t work, Cesare._

_I knew by then that you had inherited some of my worst traits – you were hot-headed, you were stubborn, you were idealistic and you loved so deeply. The hot-headed I could work with; stubbornness I could deal with, but your idealism and your capacity for love – oh how I wished I hadn’t passed those traits on to you. I knew you would get hurt countless times by those two facets of your character. You loved your family with everything you had – so you couldn’t understand when Cesare went away to Pisa for school._

_You believed in marriage as an act of love and devotion, and then you were brutally raped again and again by the man you expected to love – if not when you were married, then with time. When you returned from the Sforza castle I knew I had lost you. You were all hard lines and sharp retorts. The hot-headedness that I had tried so hard to stamp out of you, came back, rearing its ugly head._

_I am so sorry to have failed you my daughter. I had many wishes for you – to be happy, to be healthy, to be married to a man that would make you happy and give you everything you wanted – including lots of grandchildren for me. But my greatest wish for you is that you would not be me. I suppose I didn’t wish hard enough. For that is exactly what happened._

_I love you my darling. I do promise to take care of Cesare and little Giovanni in your absence. As for the quilt, I will do my best. I haven’t sewn anything in quite some time._

_All my love,_

_Mama_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sob* Sorry dears, both for the wait and for the sadness of this chapter. I was pretty sick this week and before that, well, anyone who is in grad school or who has been, will understand.  
> Part IV is going to be in Rodrigo's point of view - that one is going to take me awhile because of how difficult it is for me to channel him.  
> Part V is going to bounce between the Borgias (though mainly focusing on Cesare) as they move on, looking at them a few months, then a few years, and then decades later.
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed!


	4. My Confession

Part IV – My Confession

Rodrigo Borgia was a simple man – he wanted power, he wanted love and a skirt to chase, and he wanted his family wealthy, cared for, and most especially safe. Power, it seemed, always won out over the concerns for his family. That is why, Rodrigo mused one day, Cesare seemed so overly protective of his sister. Of course, she was the light of their world. Until she got a brain and a tongue of her own – which happened right about the time she came back from Sforza pregnant with a stable boy’s child. Of course she deserved to be protected. But Rodrigo had always thought that in order to protect her…

He had been wrong, of course. He had been wrong in the most spectacular fashion. And what did he have to show for it? Two dead children, one out of his mind in grief, the other unwilling to speak to him over some transgression that Juan committed that he would never say. Vannozza was putting up a brave front but he knew inside she was crumbling. Just as he was. Just as his papacy was.

He had been trying to throw himself into meetings after the death of his only daughter (or, at least the only daughter that counted). He had been trying – truly. But he couldn’t concentrate when Lucrezia haunted his dreams. So one night, after everyone had gone to sleep, the Pope had donned his monk clothing and went to Vannozza’s home. He went immediately into the nursery where Lucrezia had spent so much of her time as a child. It would have become Giovanni’s in a few months when he was old enough for a small bed instead of a crib. Now it was just a reminder of the people that used to be.

There was a small wooden sword of Juan’s sitting on a shelf, a doll of Gioffre’s sat next to a helmet of Cesare’s. But there, sitting all by itself, was a large stuffed duck – Lucrezia’s. It was ridiculous – a mixture of green, grey, brown and black silk to make the colors of a mallard. Vannozza had found some soft, fuzzy fabric for its underbelly, and its feet were who knew what. It honestly was thrown together just before Lucrezia was born. Vannozza had been pacing and pacing, wanting something to do to get the house ready for another baby. In his impatience, Rodrigo had snapped, “Then make it a toy! Pick an animal and sew it as a toy for the baby.” Vannozza had done just that.

It was hideous. Lucrezia had loved it. So much that she wouldn’t sleep unless her duck was next to her. She loved it so much that when she was first learning to walk, she carried it in one hand, determined it was going to make the trip with her.

Picking it up, Rodrigo cradled it to him, breathing in its scent. It didn’t smell of her – it had been too long. It just smelled of dust and a time long ago. He sighed. He knew nothing was going to bring her back, but he just wished he had something to hold on to her. A way to prevent her from slipping away completely from him.

He went to put the duck back when he noticed a letter sitting underneath where the duck had been. _Papa_ it said. Maybe he would have something to remember her by besides the ugly duck. He settled himself in the rocking chair, one hand clutching the duck, the other holding the now-opened letter.

                _Dearest Papa –_

_I hope you never have to read this. Because it means you’ve lost another child before you died. It’s not fair, I know. But something killed me – not necessarily someone – and I’ve moved on. You should too. You need to focus on being Pope. And I would have you question if you remember what that means. Yes, you are leader of the Papal States and the great Papal Army, but you are also supposed to be the leader of the Holy Church. And while I can forgive most of what you have done, knowing you have done it to give us the best there is, I am not so sure God will._

_That is, if there is a God. I do not know anymore – nor do I care. But you do. Or you did. So many things have changed since I was a child. Many good things have happened – I got another brother, I grew up in a household of love, I became an educated woman which was much more than many women in my position can say. I got to give birth to a beautiful baby boy, and celebrate the joys of motherhood. I should not complain. Giovanni is enough to see me through the painful memories, and if he fails, then Cesare knows how to._

_And I shouldn’t complain because it will leave you with a lifetime of guilt. So I won’t. But if you ever need to hear those words, ask Cesare – he will know. He has always known my heart._

_Papa, remember who you are. If you are the Pope, then be the Pope. If you’re going to be Rodrigo Borgia, be Rodrigo Borgia. Decide – decide now – and don’t look back. I will support you from wherever I am. And know I love you. I love you faults and all. You are my father and I don’t think I could have been half the woman I was without your guidance and your steady push – pushing me towards what I don’t think I ever figured out – but it was something wonderful. At least, that’s what you implied._

_I do not want to be buried in Rome if I have the choice. I want to be buried in Valencia – it does not matter where, as long as I am facing the ocean. I so miss the sea. This is also a selfish request, I know. But I want this so that when you return to Spain (and I know you will), you can be close to me once more._

_Think about it._

_All my love,_

_Lucrezia_

Rodrigo sighed shakily. This was not what he had been expecting. She, the most faithful of his children, had declared that she did not believe in God, but at the same time requested that he return to his appointed role as Pope to be simply that. There was a nagging feeling in Rodrigo’s mind that she had been angry with him, and hadn’t forgiven him for something. It was something that would plague him – that he knew. He would brew and stew over it, turning over every decision he had ever made in regards to his daughter, trying to figure out where he had gone wrong. It could be many things. It could have been everything. And apparently Cesare knew? Cesare would not tell him, he knew. At least not until he redeemed himself. How long that would take, he wasn’t so sure.

                So he found paper and ink in a spare room and began to write a letter to Lucrezia to explain. He knew it would not make a difference to her – she was gone – but it might be the first step in his redemption.

                _Lucrezia_

_Did you know when your mother decided on Lucrezia I wanted to call you Lucy? Juan had announced it was a stupid nickname. He was having trouble with his ‘l’s’ and so you became “Cretzia” to him. I seem to remember you hated when he called you that once you knew what your name was. He also tried, when you were five, maybe, to call you “Lulu” – a name for a crazy and unintelligent person. You threw a toy at him and stood, hands on hip, duck at your side, and said, “I am smart. I am a Borgia. And I can end you.” I don’t think I’ve ever see a five year old say something so serious with such fervor before, and I don’t think I’ve seen it since._

_You must know, my Lucrezia, that I did everything to protect you, to keep you safe. Or, I thought I did. But now I am not so sure. I can feel my papacy ending, and when I die, I do not think I can keep your siblings and your mother safe. I am so sorry. All I wanted was your happiness and your safety._

_As I wrack my brain trying to think of what I’ve done to offend you so greatly, I can come up with a million things. Was it never standing up for our Spanish blood and making it appear as if we were Italian (though it seemed the entire world knew we were not)? Was it sending Cesare to Pisa? You two always were so close. Was it something to do with Giovanni, or your mother? Was it that I had forbid that she attend your wedding? Was it the wedding itself? Which one? I have made a lifetime of mistakes, my Lucrezia, and I do not know how to determine which one was at fault the most. I can guess, but I’ll never know._

_And I do not want to know, so I will not ask Cesare. It is not that I do not wish to know – I wish to know with all of my heart. But I see this repression of knowledge from me as a sign of penance – your letter was my confession and now I must repent if I am to live with myself, if I am to live before God._

_I hope you find peace wherever you are, dear daughter. I know I never shall, and that is my burden to bear._

_Rodrigo_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, this one was shorter. Rodrigo is a hard character for me to get into, and when I hit the line about confessing, I knew that's where Part IV needed to end. Part V will hopefully be up by the end of the month!


	5. Part V, Part I

_6 months after the death of Lucrezia – Giovanni’s 3 rd Birthday_

Cesare stood on the sand, looking out. They were standing at the edge of the waves, letting them lick their feet as they stood. Cesare had all but forgotten that they were a they until he heard a shriek and the sound of little hands hitting the water. With a sad smile, he gazed at the boy, happily playing with the retreating waves.

“Papa!” The sound had so much light, and so much laughter in it Cesare felt his heart twist into a tight knot – he was the embodiment of Lucrezia, no doubt.

“Yes, Giovanni?”

“Play with me!”

“I can’t, I’m sorry little one.”

“Why?” The boy

Cesare sighed. Why couldn’t he? Why couldn’t he play with him? “Because, little one, _la meva_ _llum_ , it is your birthday. So your grandmother and grandfather will want us to be perfectly dressed.”

“Then why I play?”

“Because you’re quicker to dry!” Cesare said with a smile, snatching the boy up in his arms, laughing at his cries of surprise.

They were back in Valencia, he and Charlotte and Giovanni. It had been forever, it seemed, since he had had to use Catalan, or see Spain, but here he was, no doubt. He knew as Duke of a part of France, he really should have been there, but France held nothing for him. Charlotte had understood his need to be anywhere but Rome, and had actually suggested Spain, saying it sounded lovely.

Lovely, maybe. But only for one who could appreciate it. Cesare found he had very little to smile about. Not since she died. Not since he knew there was a child inside her, and it had been his – in his mind it would always have been his and not her second, childish husband’s. Cesare did smile, but his smiles were reserved only for the light of his life, little Giovanni.

Charlotte loved Spain. She had taken a lover – with Cesare’s permission – and quickly found herself pregnant. They acted enough the loving couple in public that few questioned the paternity of the child. And Charlotte blossomed with her lover and the child growing inside her. She cared for Giovanni as if he was her own, though he knew she could never love him as he did. He was his whole world. Just as Lucrezia had been before her death.

With the little boy tucked up in his arms, Cesare walked back to their manor, dreading the party. It would be the first time the Pope, his mother Vannozza, he and Giovanni would be together since he left Italy less than a month after her death. He knew his mother was still in the thick of her grief and Cesare did not want that sadness for his son. He also did not want his father, the Holy Father, saying something that would upset either of them. Cesare had become more patient in his experiences as a father, but he would always hold some sort of special dislike for his own father; he would always be a little too quick to anger with him around.

Cesare slipped inside, Giovanni now asleep against his chest, and went up to their rooms. It would be a few hours before the party started, but he could already here the raised voices of his mother and father. He shut the door to his son’s room and went to silence his parents when he caught wind of what they were arguing about: Giovanni.

“He should be in Rome, with his grandparents, where he can learn and experience all the best Rome has to offer.”

“Rodrigo, we’ve had this argument over and over again. That is not what she wanted. And don’t we owe it to her to give her what she wanted?”

“She was never happier than when she was in Rome. Why wouldn’t she want that for her son?”

“She was happiest when she was with _him_.” Cesare noted that his mother did not clarify which male she meant. It was a toss-up between himself and Giovanni – and Cesare knew better than to have asked that question of his sister.

He heard his father sigh. “I am taking him back with me.”

That was enough for Cesare to push open the door with a flat palm slapping against the wood.

“Cesare!” Vannozza called out.

“Please lower your voices. Giovanni is sleeping before the party and I would like him to not to have to hear this argument, though over it may be.”

“It’s over?” The Pope asked, turning on his son, surprised.

“Yes,” Cesare began. His voice was hard, deathly low. “You will not be taking my son away from me. If you think you can, I will call the guards now and you will leave.”

“Your son?” Rodrigo gaped. “How is Giovanni your son?”

“Because my sister in her dying letter told me that I was to take him, take him away from Rome and raise him as my own. He is mine, and you will not take him from me.”

“You think…” His father’s voice started to raise before Cesare silenced him with a look. “We will speak in quiet tones or we will take this away from the earshot of your grandson.”

It was not a kind argument. Accusations were thrown from father to son. Cesare was surprisingly calm, but he refused to budge on where Giovanni was to be raised – and by whom.

“You are not being sensible, Cesare! How can you possibly raise a young boy if you have never done so?”

“You hadn’t when I was born,” Cesare pointed out quietly. He noticed a nursemaid walking quickly toward him and Cesare strode toward her.

“Master Giovanni woke up and has asked for you. He was upset you were not there.”

Cesare glared at his father, “I have to go.” Rodrigo followed him to Giovanni’s room where the boy was face down in his pillows, quiet sobs could be heard as his little body shook.

“ _La meva_ _llum_ , what is wrong?” Cesare sat down on the bed next to him, a hand rubbing his back gently.

Giovanni turned his head, noting who was talking to him. “Papa!” He launched himself into Cesare’s arms, burying his head in Cesare’s shoulder.

“Did you have another nightmare?” Giovanni nodded.

“About Mama?”

“Yes. Why isn’t she here? You said she loved celebrating my birthday.” The cries grew louder. “Why isn’t Mama here? Where is she?” The little boy was growing frantic and Cesare felt, not for the first, tears rising in his eyes.

“Do you remember when we talked about this? That your mama is looking at you, watching over you? That she wanted to see you grow up and get married and have children of your own? That she wanted you to have a sibling like the little one that was growing inside of her?” Cesare wasn’t thinking about his father or his mother who had followed him, that they hadn’t known about Lucrezia’s pregnancy. He was so focused on calming her son that he didn’t hear the gasp from his mother’s lips.

“Yes,” Giovanni whimpered.

“Then know if she could, she would be here. She loved you more than anything.”

“More than you?”

“Yes, even more than she loved me.”

“’ottie is my Mama now, since you are my Papa?”

“No, little one. Nobody can take your Mama away from you, from here,” Cesare touched Giovanni’s chest, near his heart. “But Charlotte is someone you can always go to if you need a woman’s hug.”

“I like your hugs, Papa.”

“I do too, Giovanni. I do too.” Cesare smiled into his son’s hair. “Are you ready for your birthday party?”

The boy brightened considerably. “Yes!”

***

By all accounts, the party was a success. Giovanni had cake all over his face by the end of it, and was playing with a blunt play sword Micheletto had given him. But Cesare knew something more than their previous argument was bothering his parents. Something, he knew would come out sooner rather than later. While his father could hold his curiosity into a slow simmer, Vannozza needed to know right away. It was one of the many things that made them a great team.

After Giovanni had been safely tucked into bed with Micheletto outside the door until Cesare released him for the night, he sat on a chair on one of the terraces, overlooking the Mediterraean. Vannozza joined him, handing him a glass of wine.

They sat in silence for quite some time, just enjoying the night sky and each other’s company. But there was also a sense of tension in the air – something was not settled between mother and eldest son; something that needed to be settled before the first could sleep that night. “What is it mother?” Cesare asked tiredly. It had been a long and emotional day and he wanted nothing more than to go up to his son’s room and pull him close, falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

“Anyone with eyes can see that you are the right person in the right place for Giovanni. I may have trouble convincing your father, but I will. For both of your sake’s. And with your wife due to give birth soon, it will be nice for Giovanni to have a sibling. And you to have a child of your own.”

“Giovanni is mine by all intents and purposes.”

Vannozza took a sip of her wine before she spoke. “Perhaps, but Charlotte’s will be truly yours – flesh and blood and marriage.” The way Cesare flinched barely escaped her notice as his face settled into a cool glance her direction. She didn’t know how close he had come to having just that – flesh and blood of his and Lucrezia’s. Their child – a product of their love and devotion to one another.

“The baby is not mine, Mother.” Cesare finally said. On that point he had to be honest. “We act as husband and wife in that we are cordial to one another. But she has a lover – a discreet lover – who makes her much happier than I ever could.”

“I see.” Cesare could hear the unasked question on her lips, but he prayed that it would not get asked. He was much too tired emotionally and physically to put up much of a defense against his mother on the sixth month anniversary of his beloved passing and the third birthday of her son.

“It has been six months since she passed and I wonder, would Giovanni have had a sibling by now.”

Cesare sighed heavily. So there it was. He hoped the next question was not to be of the unborn child’s paternity. “Yes, he would have. I imagined it was a little girl with Lucrezia’s blue, blue as the sky eyes and his dark curls. She would have been the beauty of all of Rome, just as her mother was the envy of all of it. She would have had everything she ever wanted and I, as her uncle,” he paused only for a moment at the word that was both truth and lie, “would have protected her from all the evils of the world.”

Vannozza did not ask if it was Alfonso’s, or any of the other men Lucrezia had taken to her bed (or crawled into in his case). Instead, she said, “I would have liked a granddaughter. Lucrezia was spoiled but much too headstrong to let me baby her for very long. I very much wished I could do that to her daughter.”

“I...” Cesare was at a loss for words. How did he accurately describe the pounding, never-ending loss that consumed him? How did he describe how their daughter visited him weekly in dreams, in different stages of her life, to say that she loved her “Papa” and couldn’t wait to see him? Oh, if there were all the words for all the stars in the sky it would not have been enough to describe the loss he felt. So he fell silent, trying to banish the thoughts of what could have been from his mind, knowing he would never be able to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> la meva llum – My light in Catalan (Google Translate in case it was wrong!)
> 
> So, how I got to the dates: Lucrezia’s marriage to Giovanni Sforza was annulled in 1497, so I put that as Giovanni’s birth year (the problem of there being no seasons in this show is incredibly frustrating for time lines!). Alfonso died in 1500, the same year that Lucrezia died, so I’m assuming that it was early enough in the year that six months could be Giovanni’s birthday. 
> 
> I have been swamped with graduate school work, so I’ve decided to break Part V into multiple parts just so you guys get more chances to cry. Just kidding. Also because I was afraid that if I didn’t post something, it would never get done because I wouldn’t feel the need. So here’s Part V, Part I.


	6. Things Left Unsaid

Part V, Part II

**_1 year anniversary of Lucrezia’s death_ **

            _My dearest son –_

_I know today would be hard for you, just as it is for your father and I, so I wanted to write this to comfort you since I couldn’t do it in person. I would have written to Charlotte, but then your father got word that you had asked for your marriage annulled so that she could marry the father of her child. You didn’t want to live a lie, he said you said._

_I don’t think that’s the truth. You didn’t want to live_ that _lie. You think I didn’t know about your affection for your sister? It was not natural to everyone outside of our family, but it was you, and it was her. Lucrezia had once mentioned, on one of her more spiteful, honest days, that you had killed Juan to protect her and Giovanni. I do not doubt that. In fact, it made so much more sense once she explained it._

_You mourn worse than any of us because she was everything to you. She was your light, your darkness, your moon, sun, and stars. She made everything good and beautiful and precious. I know because for a time she did that for me. But then she grew up and got opinions, and well, I still love her with everything I am, but it is a different kind of love. It is the love I have for your father. It is the kind of love that you would tear the world apart to protect._

_I write this not in judgment, but in the hopes that we can clear the air and begin to heal. I know you will never truly recover from her death, but maybe if you confided in someone, her passing would be made easier. The child you spoke of – it was yours, was it not? You don’t have to answer me. I love you as I love her regardless of the answer._

_But I feel as I realized just how close you two had become, that I did not know my only daughter, and I hate that we could not confide in one another. So I wish that we could have that. You must think it odd, your mother saying she is perfectly content knowing that she could have had a granddaughter (because I share your dreams that it was a girl) that was a product of incest. I am at peace with this knowledge not because she is dead, no, I would never wish that on a baby, but because she was love. She was not the product of incest – she was the product of perfect, true love._

_Do not let yourself be beaten up by things you cannot change or the laws we have chosen to abide by. Your secret is safe with me._

_I love you so much and do not brood alone in that big Valencian palace today._

_I remain,_

_Your Mother, Vannozza_

Cesare sighed as he finished reading the letter, sitting in Giovanni’s room watching as he slept. He could not imagine a more painful reminder of Lucrezia being gone than her son, but somehow, his mother’s letter had made the pain all the more sharp. It stung as if he had been cut for the first time. Or cut on the scar tissue. Although Cesare was convinced he hadn’t even started to heal.

Sure, he took care of Giovanni, and loved him with all the love he had to give, but he could not say that he was healing. If he was healing would he have nightly dreams of their daughter, watching her grow and smile at him, yelling at him for being over-protective, playing chess with him, or walking down a long aisle in a white gown as she married someone. He constantly dreamt of her whole life that had been snatched away from away from her, away from _him_.

And if that was not enough, Lucrezia haunted him every time he closed his eyes, even for a moment. It was cruel and he did not know how much longer he could live like this. But as he glanced over at his nephew, his son, he knew that he had to keep going for him. Because, really, Giovanni was all he had left of her. He had a blanket that his mother had made of her old gowns, he had her letter, and he had the memories. But all three tortured him in a way that made him wake in the middle of the night in a sweat, calling out for her.

It wasn’t fair, as Giovanni liked to say. No, it wasn’t fair at all. But that was life. And, Cesare mused, there was no better punishment for an unholy family than to prevent them from being together.

_Dear Mother –_

_I do not know with certainty that Lucrezia’s daughter was mine. I only have my guesses and her tales of how unhappy she was in her marriage. She mentioned that he had been drunk most of the times they were together and had never felt like he had gotten any enjoyment out of the experience. The timing works out to either her and I, or the consummation ceremony._

_But even if I do not know for certainty, I know in my heart, that was my Adelina in her. I would have done everything to protect her, so it still infuriates me that she was taken by something that could have simply been prevented if someone had taught her how to swim. Spain is surrounded by water on three sides, Mother, how did no one teach her how to swim? I would have my child, and more importantly_ her _if she knew how to swim. But she has said in her letter to me that no matter how she died I was to not blame myself._

_Well, I still do._

_I will never blame my affections – she was and still is my everything, though I am finding her in Giovanni just so I have some love to give to him. But I wish we had never gotten that close. It would make the pain that much easier. I wouldn’t know all that I lost. I wouldn’t know that I could never be happy again._

_You know she ordered me to move on, to be happy, to give Giovanni lots of siblings – at least three – with Charlotte? I couldn’t do it. And I couldn’t force Charlotte to live a scam of a marriage. Lucrezia and I could have never been married and so our marriages would always have been a scam unless we were together. I have lied so much in my life that maybe a little truth won’t hurt me now._

_I remain, your son,_

_Cesare_

“Papa?”

“Yes, little one?” Cesare turned to the little boy who was waking from his nap.

“Will you have another wife?”

Cesare shook his head, “I don’t think so, Giovanni. Why do you ask?”

“I want you happy. You not happy.” It broke Cesare’s already broken heart to see that his grief had affected his son that much.

“And you think a wife would make me happy?”

“No.” Giovanni shook his head. “Mama would.”

Cesare felt his eyes filling, the pools overflowing and flowing in silent streaks down his cheeks.

“But Mama is gone. Can be happy with just me?”

Cesare crossed the distance between them, gripping Giovanni into a tight hug. “Happy with just you, I think I can try.”

“Good. Try is good.”

***

_10.5 Year Anniversary of Lucrezia’s Death, Giovanni’s 13 th Birthday_

“You’ve been coming out here less often,” Giovanni said from behind where Cesare was standing on the coast, looking out on the sea, next to Lucrezia’s grave.

“You’ve been keeping track of me? Has Micheletto been teaching you how to spy again?” Cesare asked, his back still to the boy.

“Maybe. He’s been teaching me a few things while he’s here.” Giovanni approached him, wrapping an arm around the only father he had known. “Davora is looking for you.”

“I’m sure she is. I should have been back by now.”

“I’m glad you met her, Papa, truly.”

Cesare wanted to sigh. Davora was his wife – a girl from the Balkans with dark hair and bright green eyes and tanned, olive skin unlike his own Spanish tan. She had come to Valencia to escape an abusive husband that had made her miscarry her child, and somehow ended up as a nursemaid to Giovanni. She knew everything about him – including he and Lucrezia’s daughter – and had told him all her secrets. That the baby she carried was not her husband’s, that she was afraid of being intimate, and so many other little things. Just before Giovanni’s tenth birthday they had married quietly.

“I’m… I’m glad I found her too,” Cesare managed. The anniversaries were always the hardest. He knew marrying Davora was the right thing to do, but it had also felt so wrong at times. But somehow, they had found peace in each other.

“I know she isn’t Mama, and she never will be, but you smile more. You’re less grouchy.”

“Do you think that’s maybe because your sisters have finally stopped keeping me up all night?”

“No, I think you haven’t minded caring for Mira and Lulu…”

“I told you not to call your sister that.”

Giovanni smirked, “My point still stands. You’ve never minded caring for them.”

“You are far too smart to be a thirteen year old. When did I get such a smart son?”

“When you had such a smart sister,” Giovanni said quietly, looking up at Cesare.

Cesare smiled. “Your mother was the smartest person I ever knew. She knew how to judge people and their character in a way I could only dream of. She was perfect.” He stared out at the sea, realizing maybe he had found peace.

“What are you still doing out here?” He heard Davora’s voice behind him, the sound of laughter coming right behind her. Cesare turned just in time to sweep his two daughters into his arms. Twins, Mira and Lucrezia (or Lulu as Giovanni loved to call her), had been adopted by Cesare and Davora almost immediately after they were married. Davora was still afraid of intimacy and Cesare knew his sister had been it for him. But still, he wanted to fulfill his promise to Lucrezia and give Giovanni siblings. Born as Alexandra and Aziza, they had changed their names to be Lucrezia Alexandra (a mouthful but one that preserved her heritage), and Mira Aziza to reflect their new lives – brought together by Cesare’s sister’s love and peace – for Mira’s name meant peace.

Davora wrapped her arm in Cesare’s, putting her other hand on Giovanni’s shoulder. She looked up at her husband with a little smile. “Is there anything you need to say to her?”

“There will always be things to say to her, Davora, but I think I’ve finally fulfilled my mission. And I think…” Cesare exhaled slowly, feeling the dull ache in his chest from where the scar of Lucrezia’s death had been, “I think she’d be okay with this. It’s not what she wanted, but I don’t think she really wanted what she said she did. I don’t think she’d want me to be crazy in love with someone – she was always a jealous creature. This calm, peaceful life we’ve carved ourselves out, I think she’d like.”

“I wish I could have met her.” Davora set her head on Cesare’s shoulder. “I think I would have liked her.”

“I will always have things to tell her, but,” he paused again, to look at the two girls in his arms, watching the waves with a fascination. “I think there’s finally nothing left unsaid.” He grinned and kissed the tops of his daughter’s head. “Except, we’ve got to teach them how to swim.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I truly toyed with extending this out, but I knew at some point Cesare would either have to move on or commit suicide. And while I know I could easily kill him off, I also can't. 
> 
> I also toyed with Cesare getting remarried. I thought he needed someone to find peace with. And he found that in a woman who had no expectations of love - only friendship and safety - though I think it did turn into love. Nothing like what he had with Lucrezia, but still something strong.
> 
> That, and I wanted to leave you guys with as happy an ending as I could. Believe me, I wanted to bring Lucrezia back from the dead several times while writing this. Hopefully my next bit will be a bit more lively! Thanks for reading!


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